Voit lukea novellin suomeksi täältä.
(I wrote this short story a long time ago in Finnish but felt like trying to translate in English too. I always use music when I write, so I guess this story was originally born from there.)
No, this does not mean I’m gone crazy.
Stop prattling. Tell about us!
Quiet please, we agreed that I will tell the story. Sorry
about that. This is sometimes a bit hard. You will understand after I have
explained some backgrounds of this story. I am just an ordinary guy, bachelor
of arts. I have a stupid underpaid job that kills all my creativity and just
enough friends to prove that I’m not a hermit. I wear jeans and sweaters, I go
to a cheap barber shop to cut my hair and I do change socks and boxers every
day. I got a mustache.
This explains a lot, especially the mustache.
Do not care about them, they tend to be a handful sometimes.
You know how rock stars are. But let’s get back to the story. Once upon a time
I met a girl and fell in love. She was a dancer, and she wanted everything to
be like a movie. You know the type. When we went on a date everything was
supposed to happen in certain ways, like following the script. When we had sex
she wanted the lighting to be perfect. As we walked down the street, she wanted
to create the right atmosphere. There had to be drama, comedy, and romance.
I do not like movies. We broke up. She thought I was boring,
too ordinary.
You actually were boring at that time.
I was depressed, even though it didn’t make any sense. I
really don’t like movies.
But you like music.
But I like the music. My taste in music is very eclectic,
but I still dare to claim that no good music has been made since the 80s. The
early 90s disco pop I can still understand but everything made after that is
just a pathetic shit or reminds me of flavorless strawberry chewing gum.
I used to buy records, but then I became an art student and
I had to take tons of student loan. So I sold all my records. I got a good
prize from some of the vinyl but CDs I had to sell cheap. Nowadays it doesn’t
piss me out that bad anymore.
Sometimes I thought about the girl (who lived in the movies
which I didn’t like) and wondered if she was happy. Did she walk in the
riverbank slowly and pensive like there was a camera following her? Did she sit
on the corner table of a café and pan sharply through the people who had become
the supernumeraries in her scene. I really wanted to know how to be that happy.
Then you found us!
Do not go ahead. So, I was in a situation where I no longer
had my records, but I still was in debt. I wasn’t happy and I still thought
about the girl, the one who loved the movies. I was anxious and took a walk on
the riverside, trying to imagine cameras and lamps and a director who asked me
to be more relaxed, less worried, little bit ruminative. It made me even more
anxious. And then I heard the song. After a beautiful intro, Ann Wilson’s
gorgeous voice began to tell the story about loneliness.
I looked around, but I didn’t see anything out of the
ordinary. People walked by with lifted jacket collars and tensed expressions on
their faces. No one else seemed to hear the song, but in my ears, it just got
louder and louder. When the chorus filled my head I felt a tremendous
liberating passion inside me. My footsteps found their way to the rhythm of the
song, the lyrics made me feel the moment in a brand new way. It was me and the
music. My music. I still didn’t like movies but now everything became an
endless playlist.
In the morning when I wake up, the music gives me a hint of
what the day will be like. AC/DC’s T.N.T. is all about fighter spirit. Ozzy’s
Mr. Crowley often says that day is getting worse, and if I hear Kaseva I know
it’s not worth getting up from the bed at all. The music I do my work with
includes Bon Jovi, Bruce Springsteen and sometimes even something classical. In
a grocery store, I tend to shop with some light Finnish schlagers. The boring
convenience food tastes much better when it is enjoyed with songs from Rauli
Badding. If I ever find a woman (who loves music more than movies) I want to
make love to her inspired by Madonna’s Like a Virgin and later with the passion
of Bryan Adams’ Heaven.
My whole life is built with a steady flood of music. Just
like if there would be a radio or jukebox inside of me, but without the
annoying commercials or hosts. News I can watch from TV if I need to know what
is going on with the world. But mainly I live from the music and the music
lives in me.
But that’s not all. Tell them what happened then. Tell them about us.
All right, all right. Then my internal playlist became a bit
more than just background music. I met them all. They came to visit, so to say.
Ozzy Osbourne’s articulation is sometimes impossible to follow, but otherwise,
they are pretty good guys. Quite relaxed. They hang out with me on nights and
keep me company at work and when I’m jogging. They sleep with me, travel with
me. It’s a bit difficult to explain, but I really do like music.
We have fun times together, we must admit.
I started to jog because the Survivor required me to do so.
When I get sick Chrissie Hynde takes care of me. On a date, I’m a perfect
gentleman, thanks to Marie and Per. In social situations, I act cool, because
Sambora and Santana got my back. When I drive Michael Jackson is usually there
with me, but deeper conversations I like to have with Sting or Bono.
You no longer need a woman who likes movies. And you are not lonely anymore.
I do not want anything anymore, that’s right. I know studies
that show how music makes good to a person. Keeps brain activity virulent.
Makes you stronger. Makes you happy. When people have music, they don’t need
anything else.
But this doesn’t mean I’m gone crazy. It just means that I
have started to live.
